The first wave of valkyries appeared in Croatia, above the coastal city of Split, though eye witness accounts would later verify that similar events transpired in Cluj Napoca to Budapest to Sarajevo to disparate cities and villages across Serbia and Montenegro.
When Yasushi Kazuo visited Croatia years ago to meet an old emigre friend, he had met by chance a lovely family at one of the many old breweries in town. Their youngest daughter, bright and energetic, remarked that she adored cities like Tokyo and New York City.
“It’s where dreams are made,” she had said.
Kazuo disagreed in sinister silence.
On any other day, the denizens of Split would have spent their time taking in the majestic views of the Adriatic, toasting German beers, devouring sausages, enjoying walks through narrow shaded streets lined with mossy cobblestone, and grazing in the parks near copper statues and anti-fascist memorials.
But the armies of Queen Memoria were so numerous they blotted out the sun. The pegasi beat their feathered wings and wiped the sky clear of clouds. It was hard for those watching to describe the ornate wear of the queen’s shadowed vanguard, who each carried the sigil of her royal majesty as well as their lances crafted in halls lying beneath frozen mountains and tundras.
The Europeans and their weathered histories, however, were no strangers to armor-clad foreigners arriving from the distance, waving unfamiliar banners and hoisting weapons of war. Whether they were magical forces beyond their comprehension or not didn’t matter. They didn’t need to hear the horns of the valkyries or witness their winged steeds merging into battle formations to know to run for their lives.
People stomped and tripped over each other and their beer mugs and sizzling sausages and overturned tables. Cars swerved and crashed against highway dividers trying to turn around and flee for Zagreb or maybe a secluded rural village. A few members of the police tried to maintain order while others raided the city armory for weapons and ammo.
When the first valkyrie descended upon the city, the hooves of her steed froze the very ground it walked on, birthing rigid blocks of ice below the cement pavements and cobblestone tiles. The streets cracked and sank. The serrated icicles emerging from the depths pierced through metal and flesh, leaving vehicles and human bodies alike impaled at their prongs.
Then the rest of the valkyries began to land. Glaciers burst from the earth like whales surfacing for a breath of air. People found themselves encased in frozen tombs. Statues of Queen Memoria toppled memorials of freedom fighters and ancient kings alike, while museums and shops were forcibly replaced by frigid fortifications and the foundations of her majesty’s castle.
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On Tomislava Street, named after the first king of Croatia, what remained of the military police formed their first and final barricade. They fired their crude submachine guns and semi-automatic pistols. These were trained soldiers, not feckless amateurs. They aimed for the unprotected faces of the valkyries or the unarmored wings of their pegasi steeds. Their ferrous rounds glanced off an unseen barrier in front of the valkyries’ faces. The steeds, on the other hand, reeled and shrieked at the bullets shredding their wings. The police urged their comrades to keep up the pressure and waved for more civilians to make for safety.
Yasushi Kazuo used to wonder what was the point of such hapless heroics. The police holding a meager street corridor while covering for civilians, it would never have made sense to Kazuo, who would have remembered that thousands of winged warriors were plunging from the skies, that the icy graves consuming Split from below approached with eager haste. Nothing awaited these men and women but failure and swift execution.
When the slaughter ended and the shores of Split had been frozen over and covered with wintry ornaments, Kazuo’s indefatigable queen descended and set foot upon her new empire. Above her, her glacial castle continued to grow into gray nebulous clouds.
“Sylvia,” said the queen.
One of the warriors behind Memoria approached, her armor more decorated than the others. Sylvia kneeled and bowed before her majesty.
“Yes, my Queen,” she said.
“The air here smells foul,” the queen said.
“You’ve always disliked the smell of the sea, your Highness,” said Sylvia.
“No. If only it were just the saltiness,” Memoria shook her head, “Something else is amiss. Some darker force is at work here. Find out where we are.”
“Yes, my Queen.”
Storm clouds converged on Croatia and a faint snow began to fall, dusting the battlements and ramparts of Queen Memoria’s castle with crystals. Beneath the clouds, more of her Majesty’s armies descended from the heavens. Queen Memoria smiled with soft elation and sauntered towards the castle gates. Each step embellished her grace and fortitude, just as Yasushi Kazuo had always envisioned. The magnificent splendor of darkness and shadow reflected in cold metallic armor. A banner was thrown over one of the towers. A silver goblet sat at the center of rich violet fabric, overflowing with red wine or blood, it was hard to say.
When Queen Memoria of the Eternal Sunset, with a crown of violet and scarlet, walks upon this earth again, no royal will be her better. Her infamous ice castle will be born beneath her feet and its borders shall begin to spread anew. Her armies, led by the brilliant Sapphire Knight Sylvia, will appear where they please, marking the territory of her new imperium. To the surprise of all, its decorum and etiquette shall amaze those who have been brutally conquered.
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